Armageddon

Univac

Remember that episode on Star Trek, “A Taste of Armageddon?” The plot essentially tells of computer warfare, where simulated clashes determines, by treaty, real casualties in execution chambers. That one premiered in 1967. 

Stay with me.

Rising industrialization and the emergence of international Imperialism triggered America’s early 20th Century entrance into an arms race. Competitors, like the British, governed colonies around the globe, and to a lesser extent so did the French, Dutch, and even Spain.

Money, weapons, power, and influence. America wanted its share.

Defending far-flung potential islands and territories required enlarging the US Navy. At that time, Alfred Thayer Mahan, a Naval Officer, published a seminal work, “The Influence of Sea Power Upon History.” Mahan proposed that an updated Navy would ensure America’s emergence as great an influence as Great Britain.

Theodore Roosevelt embraced Mahan’s work, as did his nephew, Franklin. Young Winston Churchill openly admitted his devotion to Mahan’s views, as did Kaiser Wilhelm in Germany.

In the years that followed, wooden vessels were retired in favor of formidable steel battleships, and smaller surface craft. And a new, dangerous, arms race launched, pitting the US against its colonial rivals. 

The Germans, late imperial entrants, felt they had been left behind in access to imperial growth. Particularly jealous of his English cousins, Kaiser Wilhelm pushed his own nation’s armaments production. The result? A nasty militarism, combined with foreign domination—a time bomb waiting to detonate.

An American arms manufacturer, Hiram Maxim, headed to Washington to sell his innovation: the self-cooling machine gun. Christened the “Maxim,” the arms builder demonstrated his handy work in DC, to the Department of War. The government turned him down. Undaunted, Maxim presented his automatic weapon to the Brits. Once again, no interest. In a  visit to Berlin, the Kaiser bought all the automatics in stock, and ordered the inventor to produce more.

By August, 1914 the first full-on Industrial War erupted, complete with aircraft, submarines, and automatic guns. (Plus poison gas, tanks, and rifles of various caliber.) All of these were mass produced and damn deadly.

The nature of Twentieth Century warfare had literally been forged in steel–producing assembly line annihilation.  

How does weaponizing technical innovations apply to now? 

The world resides in a post-industrial age, in a universe dependent on computers. From  Univac, to Commodore 64, to Apple, we enjoy countless benefits of the computer age. But the dark side of this ever-evolving technology, and the significant dangers it poses deserves reappraisal.

As I write, misinformation, via the internet, has abetted in the deaths of 670K-plus Americans, and the numbers still climb. Troll farms in Russia are ruthlessly still hacking away, as they did meddling in our 2016 presidential election. Those same hackers shut down Colonial Pipeline last May, while universities, government agencies, infrastructure, and businesses are under constant threat, paying millions to rescue their systems from ransom ware.

The indispensable nature of computers, like this one in my lap, is a useful, essential tool. But like the advent of the 20th Century, technical advances portends danger; cyber space as deadly as a machine gun, and as real as poison gas. Factor in nations around the globe are still vying for dominance—especially the Russians, and the Chinese. 

Nothing has changed since 1914, aside from more sophisticated ways to destroy. Fifty-four years after Star Trek aired “Armageddon,” computer-generated death is as real as the death toll at The Marne, or Verdun. Flourishing fingers harmonize chords on a piano, as does the right strokes on a keyboard. Unlike harmony, horrific death and discord threaten our nation by those who wish us ill.  

The Unforgivable Curse

Many of us have read JK Rowling’s Harry Potter books and/or watched the films. The author created a wondrous world of spells, incantations, and even included law and order via three unforgivable curses. 

There are guardrails in this tale, and a bit of a messiah storyline. Harry willingly sacrifices himself, as had his parents and many others before. However, the “Boy Who Lived,” does, and returns to fight and vanquish wickedness. 

Love, too, permeates the storyline, and the righteous power of good over evil. 

But that’s not my take.

As a career History educator I came to a different conclusion; Harry Potter told me that failing to understand our shared past can be lethal. And that was the metaphor I preached to my History students.

Harry rises to the threat and defends all that is good and valuable in his world. If he didn’t, Harry could have been killed and his world destroyed.

It’s so apropos at this moment in our history to grasp our collective story as Americans.

Honest differences within the confines of our beliefs is one thing. Obliterating the tenants of democracy is quite another. 

Americans cannot surrender our country to this would-be dictator, the things that have cost our people so dearly. Freezing soldiers at Valley Forge did not languish to enable DJT to trademark his brand to hotels, steaks or a failed university. The fallen at Gettysburg, and the suffering in Battle of the Bulge was not to pave the way for DJT to get us all killed from a ravaging plague. The girls who perished in the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire, the miners murdered in the Ludlow Massacre, or humiliated Civil Rights workers beaten at the Woolworth’s lunch counter was not for Donald Trump to validate racism and sexism and undo labor laws. 

He doesn’t know our nation’s history, and as George Santayana warned us, we are condemned to sacrifice all over again. 

Vote. 

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-part memoir, “River of January,” and “River of January: Figure Eight.

gailchumbley@gmail.com

Peer Review #1

Marines manned numerous doorways along the wide hallway, as clusters of tourists wandered through colorful rooms. Upstairs the President listened to the public commotion with satisfaction, not for the house, not for the job, which, in truth, had become tiresome, but for the knowledge he could drop down and set all their bourgeois hearts aflutter. 

After a moment, he made his decision, slipping down an interior stair case, stepping into the Blue Room.

As his hands automatically fluffed his hair, the President sidled up beside a class of wiggly school children snapping cell phone pictures.

“And where are you from?,” the president teased with pleasure, anticipating an excited response. He half closed his eyes, and paused, waiting for the gratifying answer.

But he heard nothing.

Bemused, the President opened one eye, then the other. The chatty children paid him no mind, in fact were moving away, following their guide into the hallway.

“Wait,” he found himself calling. “It’s me, your President. I’m here.”

He repeated, “The President of the United States.”

But the children didn’t hear. He remained alone in the Blue Room, his hair acceptably coiffed.

No further tourists entered, though dozens drifted past the doorway. He didn’t understand and he thought very hard, seeking a rational explanation.

It was at that moment that he heard a voice, quite close, and quite annoyed. 

“Am I to understand you are a New Yorker?” 

The President wheeled around toward the sound. Before him, no more than an arm’s length away stood a mustachioed gentleman, wearing pinz nez spectacles, sporting a shiny top hat. The man’s eyes blazed behind the thick round lenses, and the astonished President detected a trickle of cold sweat trace down the back of his thick neck.

“I say, are you, or are you not, a New Yorker?” The stern man spoke in a nasally, patrician voice.

“Ahh. How did you get in here,” the President stammered. “Where is my secret service protection?”

“Supercilious pup,” the man in the top hat snapped. “They tell me that YOU are from New York, and are president! A common side show huckster, President.”

The President, though alarmed, replied reflexively, “I’m in real estate. I . . .made my fortune in New York real estate.” Only the muffled din of passing tourists kept the President from panic.

“Real Estate!” The man in spectacles scornfully shouted. “I’d say you are just another scoundrel from the wealthy criminal class. In New York, swindlers like you are a dime a dozen. I made a career of exposing rascals like you.” 

The man, attired in a three-piece suit, a watch fob draping his ample waist, bore a deep scowl. “And you found your way into this office of trust. Intolerable.”

Though bewildered, the President, unaccustomed to such personal insults, felt his pique rising. “I was elected President by the largest margin in American Hist . . .”

“Poppycock,” the specter interrupted. “It is my understanding the decision rested upon a mere tilt in the Electoral system, and that outsiders interfered to make certain of your victory.” 

The strange visitor moved closer. “I’d say that you are a compromised pawn of foreign meddlers, and give not one damn for the American people.”

At this point the President had heard enough, and attempted to move his legs. He wanted very much to escape the Blue Room, but his feet remained rooted. 

“I have important things to do, you need to go,” the President’s voice trembled, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

The apparition narrowed his intense eyes, and took another step toward the unnerved President. 

“I claim more authority to this revered House and Office than your mercenary greed could ever comprehend. You belong with Tweed, Plunkitt, Fisk, Conkling, and the rest of New York’s good-for-nothings. Dishonor has followed you to the Presidency, what, with your womanizing, graft, and unsavory business connections.” The fierce apparition fixed an intense, menacing gaze. “You do not belong here, nor your parade of lackeys and opportunists.

The buzz of foot traffic grew louder, and when the President again glanced toward his unwelcome visitor, he found him gone, the Blue Room empty.

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-volume memoir, “River of January” and “River of January: Figure Eight,” both available on Kindle.

Hard copies are available at http://www.river-of-january.com

 

Our Mutual Bounty

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“For the Benefit and Enjoyment of the People.”

I’m finishing up the last of a series of Presidential talks, closing with an examination of the life of Theodore Roosevelt, our 26th President. TR’s formative years involved a great deal of outdoor activity, pursuing what he called the Strenuous Life. And that life dramatically shaped his later terms of office. Next to George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, subjects of previous presentations, TR might be one of most thoroughly decent chief executives in the series.

Theodore Roosevelt liked to hunt, a lot. As a boy, while on holiday, floating the Nile, young “Teedie” bagged literally hundred of birds, picking them off along the riverbank. Toting a new shot gun, a gift from his father, and a new pair of glasses, he combed the grasses along the ancient river searching for winged prey. Back on board the family’s rented houseboat, he promptly performed amateur taxidermy on his take, as bewildered Egyptian servants and crewman stood silently by, watching. The finished collection eventually went on display in young Roosevelt’s own natural history museum, located on the top floor of the family’s elegant Manhattan home.

As a young adult, Roosevelt tracked countless paths through forested mountains, the prairies, and even the Great Plains, shooting and crating home countless pelts and game trophies. TR climbed the Matterhorn on his honeymoon, returning to Long Island rowing and sailing near his home at Sagamore Hill. The Roosevelt fortune made for comfortable, and convenient travels.

However, TR, through his innate sense of fair play came to a more enlightened conclusion, scrutinizing the inequity of his privileged lifestyle. In 1903, after a two-week trek into Yellowstone National Park, America’s first park, President Roosevelt was requested to make remarks to a small crowd of local Montanans. He agreed and took the opportunity to extoll his new democratic philosophy of America’s natural wonders. TR told listeners that day:

“The only way that the people as a whole can secure to themselves and their children the enjoyment in perpetuity of what the Yellowstone Park has to give is by assuming the ownership in the name of the nation and by jealously safeguarding and preserving the scenery, the forests, and the wild creatures . . . the Park is simply being kept in the interest of all of us, so that every one may have the chance to see its wonders
with ease and comfort at the minimum of expense. This pleasure, moreover, can under such conditions be kept for all who have the love of adventure and the hardihood
to take advantage of it . . .”

This world-traveling aristocrat spoke of the essential equality of America’s public lands–open places tourists can all savor equally, rich or poor. Grasping the finite dimensions of land and wildlife, TR changed his earlier approach to hunting and camping. He came to embrace a classless ideology to accessing our mutual bounty. In spite of his famous name, wealth, and public prominence, President Roosevelt realized that natural wonders were meant to inspire us all.

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-part memoir, River of January and River of January: Figure Eight. Available at http://www.river-of-january.com and at Amazon.com